


a mystery that doesn't need (or want) to be solved

by Rine3195



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Gen, Minor Pacifica Northwest/Dipper Pines, Older Dipper Pines and Mabel Pines, POV Second Person, is it truly an exploration of world building without a creator cameo? fuck no, why does gravity falls fic give me my best lines????
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-20
Updated: 2020-09-20
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:27:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26554345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rine3195/pseuds/Rine3195
Summary: You were on a road trip. The sign called to you. Why not stop by?
Relationships: Pacifica Northwest & Dipper Pines, thats rlly the main one lol
Comments: 2
Kudos: 12





	a mystery that doesn't need (or want) to be solved

You aren’t quite sure how you got here.

You were driving in the Oregon woods, that much is certain. Oh right, you saw the sign and got curious. A fatal mistake, to be sure. The town relies on curiosity, it’s how it pulls you in.

The town was quiet when you parked at the diner, with maybe three or four people milling around the streets. You walked in and were directed to a tan vinyl-covered booth. The menus were peeling and old, and you got the feeling the menu hadn’t changed since the place first opened. There were a few people there, but not too many. It felt kind of...frozen in time. Like you were the first person that had come here in years.

Your waitress arrived and got you water and a glass of orange juice. She was young, in her late teens, maybe early twenties. However, something felt off about her too. Her dull pink uniform and stained apron didn't match the string of pearls around her neck, or her watch-was that a Rolex? The way she carried herself was odd too, like there was a string at the top of her head, pulling her up towards the ceiling. She didn’t seem like the kind of girl to be working at a God-knows-how-old diner. You asked her about the pearls, which might have been a mistake. She fixed you with a frosty stare and coldly replied that they were from her parents. That just gave you more questions. Why would a girl whose parents gave her pearls also have her work at a diner? But you decided not to ask. She already looked kind of pissed. You ordered a plate of pancakes and kept your mouth shut.

After about ten minutes, you got bored with trying to get a wifi signal on your phone and started to look around the diner. There was a pair of cops at the counter, a group of teens laughing in a booth, and a young man, maybe in his early twenties, sitting at another booth, with piles of books and sheets of paper strewn everywhere. He looked half asleep, with bags under his eyes and sluggish movements, but he was dutifully noting things down on loose scraps of notebook paper. He had scraggly brown hair and a square jaw, and his clothes (a red flannel jacket and jeans) looked messy and dirt-stained. The man looked half on the edge of just falling asleep right there and then, but when your waitress walked over to him, he looked up and smiled at her. You couldn’t hear their conversation, but it seemed very friendly. Both of them laughed a lot and she hit him playfully on the shoulder a few times. The poor guy still looked like he was about to keel over, but a few sips of coffee brought a bit of color back into his face. She squeezed his shoulder and walked away. By the time you got your pancakes, he had gathered all of his supplies together and had strolled out of the diner. Or maybe _strolled_ wasn’t the right word. More like stumbled. You wondered what he could possibly be studying.

The pancakes were strangely delicious.

You decide to stroll around the town, see what there was to check out. There wasn’t much. A few random storefronts, a museum, all relatively boring. You should probably get out of here. The sun is getting lower in the sky, slowly but surely, and you don’t really wanna be stuck in this town for the night, no matter how delicious the pancakes at the diner are. So you get into your car and start to drive away. But something catches your eye. A gigantic series of signs that say “Head to the Mystery Shack” in spiky lettering. The signs looked distinctly homemade, and they make you smile in spite of yourself. _Maybe you should check it out_ , you think to yourself. You turn down a road where a sign is pointing. The road is twisty, surrounded by dense trees. You can’t see what could possibly be ahead, and your excitement builds even more.

However, when you finally round a bend and the Shack comes into view, the excitement fades almost immediately. The name was not an exaggeration; it really is a shack. There are a fair number of cars and buses surrounding it, and you can see people walking out with smiles on their faces, kids excitedly chattering to each other. The “S” in Shack has fallen off the front of the house, so now it reads “Mystery Hack.” It’ll probably be a fitting name, you think. This place looks like every tourist trap under the sun. However, you still park and join a group of tourists paying for a “guided tour.”

The price is highway robbery. You still pay it.

A young woman in a knee-length black dress, obviously fake eye patch, and (for some inexplicable reason) glittery pink high-top shoes strides out of the house. Her dark hair, pulled back into a complicated-looking braid and bright, enthusiastic eyes remind you of someone. You can’t quite figure out who.

She welcomes you all to the Mystery Shack, says her name is “Maple Wildflower Pines, and two of those names are lies,” says her granduncle founded this place out of “nothing but the clothes on his back, some scientific grant money he had no better use for, and the weird things he found out in these Oregon woods.”

The girl's a regular show woman, and her clear enthusiasm for this weird place is contagious. You find yourself smiling at the corny jokes she cracks, the little anecdotes she tells. She mentions a twin brother who “practically lives in these woods,” and the puzzle pieces click into place. Her twin is the man in the diner! The resemblance is all too clear now. He must be studying the woods here.

She mentions a few things about the original “Mr. Mystery.” Apparently, he and his twin brother (“What are the odds, am I right or am I right?”), are away in Mexico, hunting down chupacabras and the like. “Mr. Mystery the Second” is on paternity leave, because he and his wife Melody recently had a baby boy. She smiles when she mentions this, and it seems like a truly genuine smile. Then, it’s gone, she accuses the crowd of “letting her get sentimental on them,” and she leads everyone inside.

The tour is hysterical. Partly because of “Miss Mystery”’s jokes, but mostly because everything in the place is so clearly fake it’s ridiculous. Miss Mystery knows it too, and makes sarcastic jabs about everything, including her brother’s inability to find actual cryptids and her granduncle’s inability to staple things together well. The crowd is in hysterics, and she looks like she’s loving the response. Then, she gets a sneaky look on her face, tells the group that there’s a secret room, one she really shouldn’t be showing them, but she figures she might as well.

The room is not secret. The handle’s gold sheen is worn through with how many times it’s been used. No one else seems to notice, though. Miss Mystery sees you studying the door handle and gives you a small wink. She opens the door with a flourish and tells everyone to not make a sound. Everyone is deathly quiet as she leads them inside and points to a small cage in the middle of the barren, dark room.

Inside, there are two small winged creatures, flitting around and buzzing. They have a strange glow to them, slightly green, and it’s the only light in the room. Are they fake?  
Miss Mystery takes a handful of acorns out of her pocket and drops them in the cage. The things flit down, and you can see tiny hands reach out and pick up the acorns carefully.

The tour group is frozen, and you are too. They could be fake, but why would they be fake at this capacity? Everything else was obviously false, so why not make them obviously false too? Nothing makes sense.

_What is this place?_

She leads everyone back out and closes the door, then asks if anyone has questions, comments, concerns. She does request, however, that everyone leave their suggestions for the suggestion box, and pulls a trash can out from the side. The lame joke helps break the tenseness that’s been in the air ever since the fairies entered the picture.

The first question comes from a skeptical-looking teenager, asking how she got the tiny fairies inside that cage. Remarkably, Miss Mystery fields the question very well, laughing and saying her brother did that, “so take it up with him.” The teenager doesn’t look swayed, and raises her hand again. Miss Mystery calls on a few more people, but then, finally, she calls on the teen again, clearly irritated.

The teenager asks, straight out, if the fairies are fake.

There is a dead silence, and judging by Miss Mystery’s face, no one has ever asked this very tricky question.

“Well, kid,” she begins, looking directly at the teenager. “What do you think? Do you think they’re real or fake?”

“I think they’re fake.” the teen says stubbornly.

“Fine. Believe that then. D’ya wanna know why?”

The young girl nods.

“Because those fairies are fake.”

There’s a murmuring among the crowd. The teenager looks proud. You can’t believe it.

“Those fairies are fake to you. So it’s about what you believe. That’s what this whole town is about, what you believe.”

“Do you think they’re real?” The teen asks, a clear _checkmate, atheists_ tone in her voice.

Miss Mystery pauses. For the first time, she looks unsure. “Kid, I’ll be straight with you. I do."

There’s a deafening silence. The teen looks stunned. She continues. “I’ve been in this town for almost five years, and if we count summers, way longer than that. I’ve seen a lot of things, and not all of them can always be explained. This town has taught me many things, but the main lesson it taught me was this: not everything can be logically deciphered. This place is not a math problem. And the sooner you figure that out, the sooner Gravity Falls becomes less of a mystery. Understood?”

The teen, now looking thoroughly defeated, nods. Miss Mystery claps her hands and cheerfully asks if there are any more questions. There are a few more, all from kids, asking about the various “oddities” they saw on the tour. She smiles gallantly and answers them, making up wild stories for all of them. The teen looks irritated still, especially when the tiny boy next to her asks Miss Mystery about a part platypus, part rabbit thing he saw in the storeroom. Her parents don’t notice her irritation. But you do, and so does Miss Mystery.

Miss Mystery finally leads the group to a gift shop, where an old lady and young woman are attending to the other customers. She tells everyone to look around at the merchandise, maybe find something good to buy.

The teen looks bored as her family excitedly crowds around the merchandise, but Miss Mystery taps her on the shoulder and she turns around, looking fearful. Miss Mystery smiles reassuringly at her and seemingly asks her a question, which she answers. You’re trying to look very interested in a shelf of snow globes, but she notices you staring and beckons you to come over. So you do.

“Follow me.” she says, walking through a long hallway with many doors and past a kitchen. There’s a set of stairs inside the old-looking kitchen. _The twins must live up there_ , you think to yourself. She leads you out of a back door, humming a song you don’t recognize. Miss Mystery is leading you and the teen into the woods. And for some reason, you aren’t scared at all.

You walk through the woods in silence for a while, following this strange woman, until she stops. “There.” she says, pointing.

It’s a clearing in the woods, like the trees simply parted way. In the dead center of this clearing, there’s a statue. A very strange looking statue. It’s a triangle, with one single eye in the center, a top hat, and one arm outstretched. There’s moss growing over it, and it looks very old. You walk closer, and see that there’s writing on it. None of it is nice graffiti. Mostly it’s insults, directed at someone named “Bill.”

“Who’s Bill?” you ask.

“Him.” Miss Mystery says, pointing to the triangle.

“He has a name?” The teen snarks, but with less enthusiasm.

“He sure does.” For the first time ever, Miss Mystery looks upset. “This guy almost destroyed Gravity Falls when I was twelve. It was my first summer here."

The teen opens her mouth, but she cuts her off. “And, kid, for your information, no, I’m not bullshitting you. Not here.”

“But-he’s-“

“A triangle. Look, kid, you wanna know if I’m joshing you? Go into town. You know what? I’ll even give you a place. Go to Greasy’s Diner and ask any of the locals there about ‘Bill Cipher.’ I can guarantee that no one there’ll give you a straight answer. Mark my words. Everyone will clam up, no matter how friendly they are. This town is tired. It’s been dealing with a lot of things for a very long time. So I’d take care not to bring up the anomalies in this town being fake to people that aren’t me, because not everyone else will be as forgiving. Do you understand?”

The teen nods.

“Good. Hey, I don’t think you’re a bad kid, you’ve just got a healthy dose of skepticism. That’s a good thing most of the time. But while you’re here, try and suspend your disbelief and willingness to prove everything wrong for a bit. You can go on back now. The path is pretty clear.”

The teen turns and walks back. Miss Mystery sighs, turning to you. “There’s a few of ‘em in every group. Only a few need this little extra tour.”

“Why’d you bring me?” You ask, confused.

She shrugs. “Saw you watching. Figured I’d reassure you I wasn’t gonna hurt the kid.”

“I didn’t think you were.”

She laughs. “Good.” Miss Mystery walks over to the statue, glares at it, and flips it off. “That’s for everything, Bill. May you lie awake in hell forever.” She brushes her hands together and walks back over to you. “Gotta do that once in a while. My brother spends a lot of time over here for whatever reason. Dunno why. I’m pretty sure most of that writing on the statue is from him and his girlfriend. She helps him with his research. Nerds, the both of them.” Her voice is full of nothing but love. “Anyways, I better get back. You can stay here for a bit if you want. Just don’t stay out too long. The sun is getting low, and, speaking from experience, you don’t wanna be in these woods when it gets dark.” She turns and walks away. “Have a good night.”

You step closer to the statue, reading the graffiti.

“Rot in hell, Bill,” one reads.

“Hope you enjoy eternal torture,” another says.

One is a heart, with “P+D 4ever fuck you Bill” written inside, and it makes you laugh out loud.

Then, you hear a voice. “So, my sister had to give you the secret tour?”

You whirl around, and the young man you saw in the diner is standing there. He looks less tired than he had been looking in the diner, and he’s carrying a leather bound book. It’s blue, with a pine tree on the front. He wears a baseball cap like the ones you saw in the gift shop.

"Nah, it was some teen. She was questioning the fairies."

He shakes his head. "God, I knew I should've gotten a gnome. Less hard to explain away."

"So those fairies were real?!"

"Yep." His casualness shocks you, and it must show because he laughs. "There's weirder in these woods, trust me. I've seen shit. So has my sister. So have our uncles. So has, well, literally everyone in this place." He holds up his journal and takes a silver knife out of his pocket. "I'm on the hunt for werewolves tonight. Wish me luck."

"Good luck." you say in a strangled tone. He grins at you and walks towards the woods, then stops and turns back. "Might wanna head back to the shack. It'll get dark faster than you think."

"Thanks for the heads up."

"Thank _you_ for visiting the Mystery Shack. Buy something at the gift shop, will ya? Support your weird local businesses." He grins one more time and heads into the woods, whistling a cheerful tune. You can't believe he's that casual about hunting freaking _werewolves_.

"One more thing. Don't touch that statue's hand." The man has turned around and he looks deadly serious. “No matter how much it calls to you. Do not touch his hand.”

You nod and he walks off, disappearing into the trees.

_Like he was never there..._

“Okay, edgelord,” you say out loud to yourself. “That’s a weird one.” Without anybody with you, though, the clearing feels...very creepy. The statue seems like it's staring directly at you.

A cold gust of wind blows, and you shiver. Was that a howl? The trees in the clearing are blowing, and you realize the trees are in the shape of a triangle. And this statue of “Bill” is the eye.

Holy shit.

You run down the path as fast as you possibly can. You don't know what's happening, but it's time to get out of this tourist trap, no matter how charming the young stewards of it are.

You buy a snow globe and a pine tree baseball cap from the young woman wearing a bomber hat at the cash register, get in your car, and drive away. As you do, you see Miss Mystery standing at the entrance, leading the last tour group of the day. Driving through the dense woods, you think you can see a man in a red flannel sitting on a log and writing in a blue notebook.

And as you see a wooden sign that says “Now Leaving Gravity Falls,” you can see a man in a ratty red and black flannel jacket standing beside it. He’s young, maybe in his late twenties, he has a short, scraggly beard, and a gigantic smile. He waves to you, and you can’t help but wave and smile back.

Maybe you wouldn't mind stopping by again.

**Author's Note:**

> my tumblr is @ifeelasongcomingon  
> gravity falls is a weird-ass place and i think we need to talk about this fact


End file.
